Adrien eventually fell asleep against me.
I didn’t realize it right away, but his breathing gave it away—slow, deep, steady.
He was still pressed against me, his body warm, his presence heavy and reassuring. Part of me wanted to stay there, to drift off with him…
But I was still fully dressed, and it felt wrong to just fall asleep like that without asking.
So I decided to leave.
Not easy.
His arm was still wrapped around my stomach, holding me in place like he didn’t want to let go.
For a moment, I thought about waking him up—just for a second—to free myself.
Then I remembered that story from the exhibition. The Chinese ruler who refused to wake his lover.
The image stuck.
Me, trying to slip away while someone who cared about me slept beside me.
It wasn’t… that different, was it?
Was what we were doing—right now, in this bed—something that could resemble love?
I’d never really thought about it.
But I knew one thing for sure.
I had liked that kiss.
A lot.
Let’s not rush things, Steph.
Everything’s already moving way too fast.
Carefully—very carefully—I lifted his arm off my stomach and placed it gently back against his body. His breathing hitched for a second, then settled again.
Then I slowly slipped away from him, out of his warmth.
I turned back for a moment.
He was still asleep.
Eyes closed. Face relaxed.
Peaceful.
He looked good like that.
Tuesday morning hit differently.
I woke up before my alarm, which almost never happened. For a few seconds, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out why.
And then it came back.
Adrien’s room. The warmth. His arm around me. The slow music still echoing somewhere in my head like it had never really stopped.
It hadn’t been intense. Not like the rest.
It had been… calm.
I rubbed my face and sat up slowly. I was almost nostalgic of that moment, even though it was only yesterday.
I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen, still half in that quiet bubble.
Of course, it didn’t last long. Not in that apartment!
Greg was already there.
Sitting at the table, legs spread showing off his massive bulge stretching his shorts, one foot hooked on the chair across from him, a bowl in front of him. Scrambled eggs, toast, something that looked like leftover chicken and some veggies—classic Greg breakfast. It looked like a full lunch.
He glanced at me as I walked in, then smirked:
“Morning.”
“Hey… morning,” I answered, heading straight for the counter.
I started putting together something simple: tea, bread, jam. My movements were slower than usual, my mind still drifting to what happened last night with him, Julien, and Adrien in the end.
Behind me, I heard Greg’s fork scrape against the bowl.
“Oh,” he said casually, mouth half full. “You did that laundry I asked for?”
I froze for half a second.
The laundry.
Greg knew I didn’t have time to start it since he gave me his boxers. Would have made too much noise during the night anyway.
Then I saw his smile.
He was talking about something else.
“Yeah,” I eventually confessed.
“Special cycle and all?”
Fuck.
“…Yeah.”
A pause.
I could feel his grin without even looking.
“And?” he added. “You like my little gift?”
I exhaled through my nose, pretending to focus very hard on spreading jam evenly on the bread.
“…Yeah,” I admitted. “I really like it.”
“Say thank you then.”
Jeez.
This is going to be a dangerous game with me.
“Thank you.”
That was apparently the answer he wanted:
“Good.”
I heard him shift in his chair, leaning back a bit.
“And the taste?” he repeated, amused. “You liked it?”
I turned slightly, just enough to glance at him, his hairy armpits where on full display now with both his large arms spread around the sofa.
“Do you really need details? This early in the morning?”
He chuckled, going back to his food:
“Well… just wanted to know If you were into that.”
“Into… yeah.” I had to be honest at some point. “I didn’t think it could be for me at first. But…”
I didn’t finish my sentence, the hunk knew exactly what I wanted. I could see some proud smile spreading on his face.
“Cool. Then I might give ya some more things in the future.”
Pause.
“If you’re good.”
I shook my head, taking a sip of coffee.
Greg kept eating for a while after that, like the conversation was over.
But it wasn’t.
I could feel it.
There was something else sitting there, just under the surface. Not the usual teasing, not that blunt dominance he had sometimes, something… tighter.
He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, chewed, then spoke again without looking at me.
“You busy Saturday?”
I frowned slightly, leaning against the counter with my mug.
“Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
He finally glanced up.
“Got a match.”
Of course he did.
I nodded slowly:
“Okay. An important one?”
A pause.
Then he added, more casually than it actually sounded:
“You should come.”
I blinked.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
He shrugged, like it was no big deal, but his eyes stayed on me a second longer than usual.
“You want me there?”
He rolled his eyes a little:
“Of course. That would be nice.”
That wasn’t an answer.
I took a bite of my toast, thinking.
“You’ve got people already, no? Teammates, Julien, Adrien maybe?”
“Well… that blond fucker is on a gig in the afternoon. Can’t miss it. Adrien has other plans, didn’t ask what he had but he seemed busy.”
Another pause.
“Think you could make it?”
“I don’t know… honestly I thought about having lunch with my parents back at there place this weekend.”
Then, quieter:
“But I could go on Sunday only.”
“Fuck, I’d love that. You comin’ to see me I mean.”
I looked at him again.
There it was.
Subtle. Almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention. But it was there: something a bit off in the way he held his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened between bites.
Greg… was tense.
Not the usual kind. Not physical. Something else.
“You stressed about it?” I asked.
He scoffed immediately.
“No.”
Too fast.
I raised an eyebrow.
He exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly.
“…Big game,” he admitted. “Important.”
That was as far as he’d go.
But it was enough.
I nodded slowly, taking another sip of the green tea.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll come.”
He looked at me again, properly this time.
“For real?” He seemed almost anxious about it.
“For real yeah”
Something in his posture eased. Just a little. Barely noticeable, but I caught it.
“Good,” he said.
Simple.
We ate in silence for a bit after that. Not awkward. Just… quiet.
Then he finished.
Just like that, last bite, bowl empty.
He stood up, grabbed his glass, drank it in one go, then set it down with a dull clink.
“Alright,” he said, stretching his shoulders. “I’m out.”
I watched him head toward the door.
Then he stopped halfway, like he’d just remembered something. He turned slightly, looking back at me over his shoulder.
“Oh, and Steph?”
“Yeah?”
A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“You can keep my little gift for a few more days.”
My stomach tightened slightly.
“But I will want it back,” he added, tone casual but firm. “gonna run out of those at some point.”
Shit.
“Got it,” I said.
He nodded once, satisfied.
Then he left.
The door closed behind him.
Silence.
I looked down at the table: his empty bowl was there, the fork still resting inside. Left there.
I sighed, grabbing it.
“…Yeah, I get it.”
And I took care of it.
During the day, I found myself drifting in and out of my analysis of ancient texts. My focus kept slipping, pulled back again and again to the conversations from that morning—to Greg’s build, his presence… and that faint edge of anxiety I’d caught in him.
It didn’t take long for more distractions to pile on.
Of course, it was the apartment group chat.
Jus2lien: “Alright serious topic boys, it’s technically my turn for cleaning this week, but not sure I can do it—anyone wanna swap?”
BigG: “Got the match, gonna be tight for me.”
Adrien started typing. Stopped. Started again. I watched the little dots appear, disappear, come back.
Curvy: “I can handle it if you want. But it’ll have to be Saturday morning, I’m busy after.”
Jus2lien: “Ah shit, you’re gonna make a mess of it, I can already tell 😭”
At the same time, my family group chat lit up too, messages overlapping with the others like two different worlds colliding on my screen.
Mom: “That’s great sweetheart, so we’ll see you Sunday for lunch? What time?”
Jerem: “Not before 1pm, we’re coming with the kids. Already booked the train.”
Mom: “Alright, 1pm it is.”
Dad: “Perfect. I’m making a massive carbonnade!”
I smiled.
My dad loved cooking those big, heavy meals whenever we got together. It had only been two weeks since I’d seen them… but it felt like so much more had happened.
And not exactly the kind of stuff you casually bring up over lunch.
After classes, Julien dragged me to the pool again.
He said it’d be good for me, that he wanted to be able to count on me at training, that I shouldn’t stop now that I’d started improving.
Yeah… sure.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew it was also a pretty convenient excuse for him to get what he wanted.
And to be honest… after what had happened with Greg, I was still left wanting.
The fact that I hadn’t really gotten to… fully experience things with him—it had left me frustrated.
Wait.
Am I seriously thinking like that?
Frustrated about not sucking a guy off?
What the hell is wrong with me…
Julien pushed hard during training. Harder than usual. Beating his own times, pushing me to keep up.
I was exhausted. Still wrecked from Monday, but I didn’t stop. I kept going.
Sometimes, between laps, when we paused at the edge of the pool, he’d rest a hand on my thigh.
Barely noticeable under the shifting light of the water.
And still… it got to me.
At one point, while lightly running his fingers along my leg, he said:
“It’d be great if you shaved too, you know.”
“What, like… not just my ass?”
“No. Like me. Swimmers shave their legs."
Now that I think about it... it's true.
"Does that help with... like the velocity? Or is it just for the cameras?"
"Oh it's a realy thing. Better stamina, VO2 and stroke lenght. Less body drag. Lots of benefits.” Then he winked. Plus it feels good too. Chicks tendt to like it."
I let out a small laugh.
“Well... I’m not a swimmer, you know.”
He raised an eyebrow at that:
“Funny. Because I see one right in front of me. And one who’s improving fast.”
That hit harder than I expected.
A warm feeling spread in my chest. I probably even blushed.
I wasn’t used to being complimented like that.
The way he said it—quick, natural, confident—it gave me a second wind. I pushed myself harder after that, following his pace, trying to match his technique.
Breathing out underwater was still tricky for me, but I focused—on my rhythm, my breathing, the movement.
It was all about rhythm.
By the end, I was completely drained.
But… proud.
In the locker room, it didn’t take long.
Julien slipped out of his swimwear and stood there, waiting—upright, still—until I dropped to my knees in front of him.
His erection rested heavily against my head before sliding slowly down from my forehead to my mouth, leaving a trail of pre-cum along the way.
“Miss my cock, you greedy slut?”
I nodded.
Partly for him.
But also… because it was true.
I was thinking about it more and more.
The feeling of him in my mouth. How it filled it. His hairless balls hangging low and full. The sounds he made—low, rough, almost animal, when he would cum.
And yeah…
I wanted to taste his juice again.
That stupid little wordplay popped back into my head.
His “Jus-de-lien.”
I’d seen it the very first time we talked.
If I hadn’t answered that ad—if I hadn’t jumped on it that night at 3am when he posted it, drunk out of his mind—I probably wouldn’t even have this place.
Someone else would.
And suddenly, as I knelt there, mouth open, ready to take his beautiful cock, I felt a strange flicker of unease.
Who would’ve taken my spot?
What would’ve happened?
Would that person be here instead of me right now… on their knees, just about to suck on a 8 incher and actually enjoying it?
“Taste it. Show me how much you’ve missed my cock.”
He saw it.
The hunger in my eyes.
I looked up at him, something almost defiant.
Yeah… no.
No one would do this better than me.
This place… it was mine.
It had always been mine.
I was the one supposed to join them.
To service them.
And I was going to make the most of it.
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